


They Made a Statue of Us

by acciothirteen



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciothirteen/pseuds/acciothirteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silly as it sounds, you always thought that they'd end up together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Made a Statue of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doubtthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/gifts).



> For Merc, thank you for indulging my headcanons and for encouraging me to post this, and for being a lovely person in general.
> 
> Title taken from the song _Us_ by Regina Spektor.

you watch as he lifts the jersey into the bright light of the stadium. and you laughed. because, _really_ , who the fuck does that? scored the freaking winning goal of the freaking world cup and yet he lifts his best friend's jersey, the one who didn't make it here. the one who matters most to him.

you hear a soft whistle next to you. "well. that's the grand romantic gesture of the year." you laugh and andré grins. "they're literally so _gross_."

"have you heard from marco?"

andré shakes his head. "no. but mario said that ann said that marcell said that marco went to bed as soon as the final whistle blew." he sighs. "i miss him. he should've been here."

you saw mario receives a hug and you thought about how he should've been in another person's arms.

#

you see him in the locker room, whispering into his phone with a smile far too sad for someone who just won the world cup.

you see him sighs and stares into his phone and you walk over to him.

"hey."

he looks up. "hey."

"everything alright?"

"everything's great," he answers. "it's just - he should've been here."

you nod absentmindedly and sit down next to him. "andré just said the exact same thing."

he laughs softly and huffs. "we were supposed to do this together, you know?"

you smile at the memories of them, talking animatedly about their plans before everything went to hell.

"yeah, i know."

#

silly as it sounds, you always thought they were supposed to be together.

you think you're probably the one who bears witness to most of their "grossness", as andré would so eloquently put it.

you think back to that one year, one golden year where everything was perfect, where they're both still wear the same colors, the glorious black and yellow.

you think back to the first time you truly ever seen them together, at one of kevin's infamous party, where you woke up with a splitting headache, damning kevin and his shitty couch to hell. you strode into the kitchen to find some goddamn aspirin when you heard laughter from the backyard. a genuine laughter. at four in the fucking morning. after kevin's party.  
you naturally grew suspicious (because no one ever woke up from kevin's party happy. no one.), and you open the door slightly.

it's them. of course it's them.

you saw marco hugging mario, his arm wrapped around the younger man's body comfortably while he laughs. mario leaned into him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"you're an idiot," mario said, a clear fondness in his voice.

marco just smiled his usual smug smirk and turned his head to kiss him.

"i love you, too, sunny."

#

but then you thought back to that night.  
you were lying on your couch, watching some crap tv when there's a rapid knock on your door.

you raised your eyebrows, because really, no sane person would go out in this weather. you thought it could be an emergency and you hurried to open up the door.

 

marco stood there, eyes glued to the floor, completely soaked from head to toe, the rain still pour heavily behind him.

"jesus, marco, what happened?"

"i- mario-" his voice broke. and then he started crying. you stood there, stunned, because marco never cried, with a very few exceptions of when they lost really important matches. marco always kept himself together, offered his shoulder to those who need it, especially mario who's almost a polar opposite of him in this matter.

you snapped out of your trance and guided him inside. "hey, man, what happened?"

he just shook his head and continued to sob.  
he sounded absolutely heartbroken. like every breath he took was pulled out from from his lungs, and it pained him. it pained you, too, to see him like this.

you quickly fetched a towel and wrapped it around him and pulled him into a hug.  
he rested his forehead at your shoulder and you feel how he struggled to breathe.

you two stayed like that for a while. marco's breathing gradually evened out, and he pulled back.

he looks worse than you thought. his eyes puffy and red, his nose slightly runny. but the worst was the sheer hollowness in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"go take a hot shower."

he nodded and toed off his shoes and walk into the bathroom. you walked into your room to get him some clothes and then you reached for your phone.

_he's with me._

the phone call came less than two minutes after you sent that text.

"is he alright?"

mario sounded frantic and you wondered what the fuck happened between them.

"not at all," you answered. "he actually sobbed in my hallway. what the fuck happened?"

it was silent for a moment, and when mario spoke, his voice was hoarse. "i- i'm-" he cleared his throat. "i'm moving. i got an offer. bayern wants me."

you hung up.

you laid down the clean clothes in the guest bedroom and walk into the living room, sat on the couch and stared at your tv that you forgot to turn off.

marco emerged a good half an hour later, wearing your clothes that's about two sizes too big on him and plopped down next to you.

"mario-" he started.

"i heard," you said.

he took a cushion and started to fiddle with it, a nervous tick. "i'm sorry. about earlier."

you shook your head. "it's fine."

he didn't talk at all for the rest of the night. you didn't push him. eventually, you got tired and went to your room. marco did so, too, not long after.

you woke up late, almost eleven. you didn't move for a good while. memories of the night before still fresh in your mind and you felt like punching something.

you eventually got out of bed and walked into the kitchen. and promptly stopped.

mario is there, typing on his phone, a cup of fresh coffee in front of him. he heard your footsteps and turned to look at you.

"hey."

he looked like hell. his hair is a mess, like he didn't even bother to fix it after he woke up, which is a huge red flag for anyone who even remotely knew him. there's dark circles under his eyes, and he looked pale. his eyebrows is still in perfect condition, though, much to your amusement.

"hey, yourself," you replied. "how did you get in?"

"marco's spare key." he shrugged. "i made coffee."

"i can see that."

he looked at you sheepishly, his body tense. "you want to talk about this, don't you?"

you let out a hollow laugh. "not really. marco, though."

he flinched when he heard his name. "i know."

there's a prickle of anger that you felt, which surprised you. you took a deep breath and stared at him.

"bayern?"

he nodded weakly.

"why?"

he licked his lips and he fiddled with his hands. when he spoke, his voice small but sure.

"because i want to. because they want me. guardiola wants me."

you can hear the astonishment in his voice.

"how much?"

he looked at you, the question took him by surprise and he frowned.

"it doesn't matter," he said, sounding defensive. "i'm not doing this for the money."

"oh, really?" you laughed and it was the worst thing that ever came out of your mouth. some rational part in your brain knew you were being unfair, and yet you can't stop. "what _is_ it about then, huh? what about the club? what about kloppo? and what about marco?"

he visibly flinched then, and he looked close to crying. "not like it's any of your business," he said carefully, his voice trembling. "but i'll deal with it."

"oh, like you did last night?" you snapped.

 

"that's enough!"

you turned around and see marco, still in your clothes, his hair an unruly mess. he looked weary and exhausted, yet determined.

"mats," he said, and you know him well enough to hear the cold anger in his tone. "leave us."

you sighed and threw a last threatening glance at mario and walk out of your own kitchen.

you stayed to eavesdrop, though, because this is still your house goddamn it, and they're practically your younger brothers.

"so," you heard mario said.

"so."

"i'm not going to apologize." his voice is unsure but steady.

"i'm not asking you to," marco replied, his tone calm.

"i'm doing what's best for my career."

"and what about staying here?" marco's voice broke. "is the club not good enough for you? is playing with _me_ not good enough for you?"

"it's not about you," mario replied, almost desperate.

"it never fucking _is_ about me."

silence.

"marco," mario called softly, pleading. "i love you. and i love playing with you, you know that. i just- i want to do this. i want to push myself, to be better."

"and why can't you do that _here_?" marco's voice almost broke, and you can almost see him flinching at his own words.

"because i always wanted to play for bayern. i told you that, remember? when you were still playing for gladbach with that stupid haircut." he chuckled softly. "bayern's my home club. it's the same with you and bvb."

there's another silence, but this one felt less tense, and you're dying to know what they're doing.

"and there's nothing i can do to change your mind?" marco said, his voice small.

"no," mario said, equally soft.

"and us? what about us?"

for the first time, mario sounded hesitant. "i don't know." he sighed. "to be honest, i thought you'd break up with me as soon as i told you about this."

marco sounded scandalized. "of course not. why would you think that?" a pause. "well, i mean, i know last night was a mess, but i love you, sunny."

"we'll be thousands of kilometers away. and we won't be able to see each other. and-"

"jesus, sunny, stop being so dramatic." marco laughed and although it was still shaky, the tension had mostly faded. "we're still in the same country," marco replied. "we can skype. and text. you'll come and visit your parents. i'll even go down there to visit. and there's international breaks."

"and brazil."

"and brazil," marco agreed, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

there was a moment of silence before you heard a muffled moan and you rolled your eyes and hoped to god that they don't start fucking on your kitchen.

#

you're still in awe of how they stayed together for so long, especially during matches where they have to play against each other.

they both always smile brighter when they're with each other, a fact that thomas confirms every international break with his constant teasing.

and their partnership on the field is still amazing. they work as one, which you guess is not a hard thing when they know each other inside out.

#

you can only watch as marco hopped off the field. you glanced at mario and his face is blank, staring emptily at the crowd and you cursed.

on the plane back, you saw them together. marco's foot was in a cast, and he looked resigned.

they didn't say a word, and the guys left them on their own, even andré. they intertwine their fingers and mario rested his head on marco's shoulder, placing a soft peck on his neck. marco smiled and closed his eyes.

#

"mats!"

you turn around and see mario, smiling brightly as he jogs towards you.

he shoves his phone into your face, and you catch marco laughing at you.

"he wants to talk to you," he says.

"well hi, there," you say with a smile. marco smiles back. "hi. i believe congratulations are in order?"

you chuckle. "thanks, man."

mario sighs and turn his phone back to his face. "really, that's all?"

you shuffle and see marco's shrug. "what do you want me to say? mats, please make sure sunny doesn't drink too much. he's taking ann out before he meets up with me, and you know what he's like when he's drunk. and for some unfathomable reason, ann would yell at me."

you laugh wholeheartedly and mario frowns. "keep that up and you will not be getting laid, reus."

you make a face and marco laughs. "yeah, right. like you're not going to jump me at the first chance you get."

you throw you hands up in surrender. "okay, ew, guys, keep your pillow talks to yourselves."

you walk away with their laughter in the background, and sit down next to andré.

"ten bucks says they're gonna talk until the stewardess yells at him to turn off his phone during take-off."

you smile and watch mario showing off his medal, the brightest smile on his face as he listens to marco.

 

"make that twenty and you're on."


End file.
